


Sirion

by Elenluin



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Coming of Age, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenluin/pseuds/Elenluin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very young High King of the Noldor is faced with the refusal of Elwing to return the Silmaril to the sons of Feanor, and the consequences of that decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isle of Balar

“She did what?!” The young High King of the Noldor shouted loudly to the messenger.

“She sent them a message back immediately my lord, that she off course would not surrender the jewel.” The elf told him once again, taken aback by the reaction of his lord.

“Is she out of her mind? Did she think at all? Foolish girl!” He cursed and Cirdan winced at his use of language and the sheer force of his rage. He decided to interfere “Ereinion, she is the leader of her people, she can decide as she wants.”

Ereinion, eyes blazing with anger, moved his hand up to silence the shipwright and turned towards the messenger as he spoke again “tell me how long ago she sent this message and then leave us.” The runner looked shaken as he answered “a week ago, my lord” and with a bow left the room. As he closed the doors behind him, he heard the voice of the king rising again.

“I never thought she would be so stupid! How can she? How can she be so irresponsible?”

“Ereinion! Stop it! Show some respect!”

“I will not stop!” he was pacing around his study. “You do realise who sent her that message? It are no longer their hot-headed younger brothers with whom we are dealing. This is Maedhros and Maglor Feanorion we are talking about, whom both once wore this crown.” He took the circlet from his head and threw it on the desk. “I know them, I know them both. They _are_ honorable men. I do not believe they wish for war, but they do not send idle threats either, they never break a promise. If she refused their terms, they will come for the jewel with their troops, even if they do not want to. They have no choice in the matter and you know it.”

Cirdan’s face was set in a grim expression “I do.”

Ereinion stood still and turned around brusquely, facing his foster father. “I have to go there, shipwright, as soon as I can, perhaps I can still prevent the worst from happening.”

“Do you really think that you would be able to stop them, my boy?”

“I have a duty to _my_ people to try, as our dear Elwing does not seem to care for hers. I would have thought that at least she would have had enough sense to try and delay her answer. Tell me, Cirdan, how can she put a jewel above those that rely on her for their safety?”

“She has lost her home to the Feanorians, Ereinion. Her father and brothers died by their hand, I do not think she is inclined to give them anything.”

“Those that killed Dior are long dead, they fell when he did, and besides, did she forget how _that_ started? It were not the Feanorians who slew Thingol. Has she forgotten how her father and great-grandfather made the same mistake as she makes now? How can her family be so obsessed with a jewel? Theirs is no oath, no promise binds _her_ to keep it. So what if the Feanorians would hold it? If it would have been my decision, I would gladly have given it to them.” He took a deep breath before he continued “Oh don’t look at me like that, shipwright, yes I would, or do you really believe a jewel is worth more than a life? If my father taught me anything, it is that it is not.” Bitterly he added “And off course Earendil is away at sea, with that ship you helped him build. At least _he_ would have remembered who our real enemy is. Ever since my cousin and Tuor left, they both seem lost. They do not seem to care anymore for anything. I cannot understand her, Cirdan, how can she so bluntly refuse and start a war. Because that is what will happen, they will come, they will fight and blood will be spilled once more. And you know what is the worst, shipwright? Our enemy will laugh, for he sees us defeated without even moving a finger.”

He dropped vehemently in his seat at those last words and hid his head in his hands.

Cirdan, who had patiently waited and listened, moved then and kneeled next to him. He lifted his young ward’s chin with one finger, forcing him to look into his eyes. “I know, Ereinion, I know all this, and I think there is little we can do, this is not in our hands. But I hear you, and you might be right. So I will sail, and we will try to prevent what is coming, though I doubt we will be on time. And we will take what troops that we have, for if worst comes to worst, we will defend Sirion.  That too is our duty, my boy, we cannot let the Feanorians get away with this either.”

Ereinion straightened his back and sat up in his chair. “Then let’s prepare, Cirdan, and this time, I will join. I will not stay behind.” Cirdan wanted to protest, but when he saw the look in the young one’s eyes, he knew he would not win this battle. And he realised once more that the weight that had been put on his charge’s shoulders had made him mature, even if he was still very young by the reckoning of the elves.


	2. In the City

As he was leaning against the gleaming white wall of a house Ereinion was thinking on the advice he had received from some of his fellow fosterlings before leaving the isle. There were several young men growing up in Cirdan’s care, and most of them had come to Balar at a very young age. Even so, some had brought memories with them of death and destruction and they had told him: “Whatever you do, do not eat before you go to battle.” He understood now, he thought. The bitter taste of bile lingered in his mouth from throwing up after seeing another corpse lying in the deserted streets of Sirion. But that had not been the worst. Above all others, it was the memory of the unseeing eyes of a living woman that had stared straight through him as if he wasn’t there, who had been thoughtlessly holding her wailing child, that he would remember for all his days to come. The despair, the grief. He wiped his hand over his face as if he could get rid of the things he had seen by the mere movement.

They had been too late, Cirdan had been right. And never would he forget.

He had spent the day talking to the wounded, walking around the city and had cursed Elwing inwardly with all his might. They had heard from the survivors that even at the end, when facing Maglor and Maedhros in all their wrath, she had not given up the jewel. She had clung to it, thrown herself in the sea and depending on whose story you believed, she had either drowned or been turned into a bird. He bitterly thought that if that last part was true, the Valar had a very unpleasant sense of humor, letting half a city die before saving its leader.

There were rumors amongst the survivors, proud rumors, that they had slain the youngest sons of Feanor. And Ereinion was disgusted. They had become no better than their attackers, it did not matter who had stricken first, too many had died on both sides.

And she had left her sons behind.

That was the one thing he thought he’d never comprehend. How could a mother do that, knowing that she left them in the hands of the very men she was running from? It almost implied that she thought them worth less than a stone?

The boys had been taken, it seemed that they had been carried away to the stronghold of Amon Ereb. And his heart cringed in sympathy for those two little elves. He knew what it was to leave your home behind. Being sent away with friends was hard enough, being taken by those that were considered your enemies must have been utterly frightening for two so young.

He had been too late.

He could not get himself to believe that the twins would come to harm. Maedhros. Maglor. All that remained of Feanor’s sons. The two that he thought he knew a little, the two he knew his father had once trusted. They would not hurt the boys. He hoped. For doubt started gnawing inside, a little voice telling him “what then of Elwing’s brothers? What then of all those slain here in the streets of Sirion?” But he firmly suppressed the thought as soon as it rose, all knew by know that it were Celegorm’s men who had taken those boys and that Maedhros had set out to look for them.  And those that had been slain today… he kept thinking that in this particular case, both sides were at fault. And so was he, too late, too late… He took a deep breath as he tried to regain his composure. His stomach was calming down at least.

Light footsteps drew nearer, and he was not surprised when Cirdan appeared next to him. After all, he had only escaped behind a corner of the building because he did not want to show how sick he felt, instinctively hiding his confusion from those that were supposed to follow him.

Strong arms surrounded him, and in that warm embrace, he found that he could not hold back the sobs any longer.   

“Hush, my boy, hush. You have done well today, I am proud of you. It is over, and we will go back. We will take all survivors that want to leave with us, and give them a place amongst our own.”

After a while, Ereinion straightened his back “I will not forget this. What one ill-timed decision can mean for one’s people. What the consequences can be of a leader being blinded by a personal cause.” And as he wiped his face with his sleeve, a steely glance appeared in his clear grey eyes.

Cirdan could not help thinking that Ereinion had changed. He had always known that the boy had a fierce spirit and often had despaired at his uncontrolled outbursts, but now it appeared that something else was surfacing. Something that today he would still call strength of will and a feeling of justice, of duty, but that given time, might become wisdom.

Confronted with the horror of the battle field for the first time, the young one had succeeded in reigning in his anger and had used the power of his emotions to soothe and inspire the survivors, to give them courage.  He had seen Ereinion walk between his people, his shield and armour gleaming in the sunlight, while he looked at them with those bright grey eyes full of compassion and concern, firmly suppressing his own confusion and grief until he had found a place to hide.

One of his young friends that had been part of the host had called after the High King when they had entered the city and had used the epessë with which the group of fosterlings that resided in Balar had bestowed him. And it seemed that those who had seen him here in Sirion had started to call him Gil-Galad too. He saw now how the name, once only referring to the color of his eyes, fitted the man that the boy had become.

He was their people’s hope, their shining star and he could tell that Ereinion Gil-Galad had realised that too today. Here at the havens of Sirion, he had truly become their King.


End file.
